


uneasy lies the head (that wears a crown)

by sans_carte



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (kinda), Canon Compliant, Episode: s02e14 Bodyguard of Lies, F/F, Open Coat Lexa, Pre-Slash, Sharing a Bed, as in no kissing sorry y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 18:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17945204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sans_carte/pseuds/sans_carte
Summary: 'Lexa is not entirely sure why she offered to share the bed with the Skaikru leader.  It is indeed quieter up here than in the encampment, and her own personal guards stand right outside.  But Lexa has never offered such a thing to any of her alliance leaders or generals, and she could easily assign a couple of gonas to find Clarke a tent and guard her while she rested.'For Day 3 of Clexaweek 2019, prompt: Only One Bed.Short episode-filler that's actually canon-compliant, I think.  Unbeta'd.





	uneasy lies the head (that wears a crown)

Long after night falls, Clarke and Lexa work to finalize the plan for attacking Mount Weather, standing at the table in the commander’s tent.  One of the Trikru warriors brings water and food: roasted meat slathered with herbs and something like a flatbread, still warm from the fire.

“ _Mochof_ ,” Lexa tells the warrior, who dips her head in respect and leaves the tent.

Clarke memorizes the word--‘thank you’, she presumes.  It sounds different from the phrase Lexa usually uses to dismiss people from her presence. She forces herself to eat, despite the nerves twisting her stomach.  

Fortunately, after she takes a few bites the smoky, rich flavors stir her appetite; like everything on the ground, the tastes of the food are much more intense than what they had on the Ark.  She can’t help closing her eyes in appreciation as she chews.

“Are you tired, Clarke?”

She opens her eyes to see Lexa watching her, while tearing off another piece of her own flatbread.  She _is_ tired, she realizes, her eyes feeling gritty and limbs leaden.  Not even the food can make up for the sleep Clarke has missed in the past several days. There’s too much at stake, too much weighing on her.

She swallows her mouthful of dinner.  “Yeah, a little. But it doesn’t matter, I want to go over this again.”

“You should rest.  Sleep is important before a battle, to ready the body and the mind,” Lexa intones, like she’s reciting a lesson.  “And we have already reviewed the plan several times.” She strips some meat from a bone with her teeth, but somehow does it more delicately than Clarke thinks she could manage herself.

“It’s fine.  Besides, I don’t even know where I’d find a quiet place to sleep down there.” Clarke tips her head towards the tent’s canvas and leather walls.  Excited calls carry from the army’s encampment below the ridge, as well as the sounds of metal blades being sharpened, horses whinnying, warriors practice-sparring.

“You should stay here.  We can share,” Lexa offers.  “It is a little quieter at least, and better protected.”

She doesn’t have to say what it’s protected from.  More snipers, someone deciding they don’t support the alliance with the Sky People or wanting to exact revenge for Finn’s misdeeds...

Clarke finishes her last couple of bites, glancing over at the low bed covered in furs.  It isn’t large, but just wide enough for two. And her eyelids are growing heavy.

“Okay, fine. Just for a little while.”

***

Lexa is not entirely sure why she offered to share the bed with the Skaikru leader.  It is indeed quieter up here than in the encampment, and her own personal guards stand right outside.  But Lexa has never offered such a thing to any of her alliance leaders or generals, and she could easily assign a couple of gonas to find Clarke a tent and guard her while she rested.  

Clarke is special, though.  Without her--and by extension, Bellamy and Raven--there is no way to take out Mount Weather.  And Lexa sees something else in this girl that she wants to protect--she thinks it’s that they’re in a similar position.  So many others depend on them, yet they alone bear the weight of all the decisions, all the consequences.

But unlike Lexa, it seems Clarke had no one to prepare her for this.  No Anya teaching her how to ready her mind for a battle, no Titus instructing her in meditation and ritual, no past commanders sharing visions of warning and sacrifice in her sleep.  

(It still doesn’t fully explain the need she feels to keep this exasperating, challenging girl close.  She ignores that thought.)

As Lexa makes her way over to the bed, she unbuckles and opens her coat.  She had already removed her red sash, weapons, and the mark of Heda from between her eyebrows earlier in the night, slowly stripping away the symbols of her authority.  Sinking onto the furs, she watches Clarke set down her gun and knife on the table, before she walks over.

The blonde looks hesitantly at the bed, a slight furrow between her brows.  Reclining, Lexa rolls her eyes and gives the furs next to her a heavy, sarcastic pat.  “I do not know what your people sleep on, but this is what we call a bed.”

Clarke darts a half-hearted glare at her, but sits down at last.  “We have mattresses on the Ark. No animal furs,” she says, running her fingers through the soft hairs.

Finally the Skaikru girl gives in and stretches out fully next to Lexa, who hides a triumphant smile.  Instead she closes her eyes and wills her own body to relax, knowing she too needs rest.

“ _Mochof_.” Clarke’s pronunciation isn’t perfect, but the mere use of Lexa’s native tongue makes her open her eyes and turn towards the other girl.  The blonde’s eyes are closed, her face and limbs slowly relaxing. “Thank you for sharing with me, Lexa. Thank you for allying with my people.”

“You are welcome,” Lexa murmurs after a moment’s pause.  She watches a minute longer, as Clarke’s breath evens out and deepens, and suddenly realizes it will not be so easy to fall asleep herself.

The last time Lexa shared a bed with anyone was Costia--a flash of dark, blood-matted hair slips across her mind’s eye, before she shoves it away--and before that her fellow nightbloods, when they were yongons.  Sometimes they would pile together after curfew and whisper stories to each other until sleep claimed them, or they would huddle up for warmth in a cave on a winter training mission.  She thinks Anya slept next to her once when she was delirious with the summer fever, a few years before her ascension.

This feels different from that.

Lexa can suddenly hear her pulse, loud and heavy in her neck where it presses against the pillow, drowning out the faint sounds of her army.  She shifts position and starts a breathing exercise. _No,_ she tells herself harshly.   _You cannot afford to be weak.  Especially not now._

***

Clarke thinks it will be difficult to fall asleep.  She’s so keyed up, and she barely knows Lexa. And it’s the first time she has shared a bed with anyone since Finn (well, technically that was a couch).  Before that, she had spent over a year in solitary confinement, sleeping alone on a narrow bunk, awakening when the harsh fluorescent lights blinked on and the guards came to deliver her morning rations.  

These furs are a lot softer and warmer than the thin mattress on that bunk, she notices as she sits on the edge of the bed--almost surprisingly soft, given how unforgiving things tend to be here on the ground.  

Clarke doesn’t agree with the Commander’s hard ways, but the more time she spends here, she thinks she understands.  Her stomach still churns at the memory of letting a missile devastate TonDC and bury innocent people, but then she remembers the bodies thrown into piles by the people at Mount Weather.  The cages and the blood sliding through tubes. _Victory stands on the back of sacrifice._

Strangely enough, when Clarke finally relaxes onto the bed, she realizes it won’t be difficult to fall asleep at all.  More difficult is staying awake long enough to thank Lexa.

Alliances require trust.  Lexa is showing her that trust, by even letting her stay here, so Clarke acknowledges it out loud.  Thanks her in the Grounders' language. As her thoughts grow fuzzy, it occurs to her that Lexa is the first person since Finn who has shared their own food with her, the first who has noticed her exhaustion and cared enough to tell her she should rest.  Maybe not so harsh and uncaring after all…

***

They both sleep, in the end.

They don’t touch.  Not at first. A strip of empty space separates them, even on the narrow bed.  

But after a while Clarke flails in her sleep, fighting an imaginary opponent, making small noises that catch in her throat.  She rolls sideways into Lexa, who doesn’t fully waken; muzzily she shushes Clarke and throws an arm over her waist. Almost immediately Clarke stops fighting.  Her body relaxes again, sinking into the Commander’s warmth.

***

Clarke isn’t sure how long she’s been asleep.  It’s still dark outside, beyond the gaps in the tent walls, and the candles inside are still burning.  A sound had woken her--the clash of swords echoing strangely loud from the encampment--only for her to realize in horrified embarrassment that she had _cuddled up to the Commander_ in her sleep.  Their legs are intertwined, and Lexa has an arm slung over Clarke’s waist, her face only inches away from Clarke’s.

Indra would probably kill her if she saw this.  It probably violates some sacred Grounder taboo, being this close to their Heda.

She can’t remember the last time she has slept so well, even for such a short time.

Lexa breathes slowly.  She looks so _young_ , Clarke realizes with a shock.  When she’s awake and in warpaint, it’s easy to forget that this ruthless commander of an army, of an entire people, is also a girl.  She’s probably around the same age as Clarke.

Something about that, or about the gentle weight of Lexa’s arm on her hip, or both, makes her chest ache.

And that’s terrifying.

Clarke rolls away and gets up.  She strides back to the table, takes a couple of deep breaths, and forces herself to stare down at their plans.  The steps repeat themselves in her head, as she considers all the possible contingencies and angles. Behind her Lexa stirs, moving onto her back again.

“Clarke?” Lexa says after a few moments, voice rough with sleep.

“What if we’re wrong? Cutting the power doesn’t disengage the locks?” Clarke needs this to work.  Which means she needs to focus, to make sure they win the battle and save her people.

Anything else can only come after, in a future she doesn’t dare let herself imagine just yet.  One where maybe, just maybe, she can think about something other than her people’s survival.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been leaving comments and kudos on my other Clexaweek stuff so far! It is all warmly appreciated.


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